THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES
by James Killough
This is sort of a follow-up piece to Tuttle’s last Wednesday because I also happened to watch Dancing With the Stars a few nights ago. It wasn’t a voluntary thing. It’s because I’m in Miami staying with my Puerto Rican ex, Willy, and he likes his TV loud, surround-sound home-theater-system loud, preferably either musical or pugnacious-and-histrionic loud, in the form of telenovelas or the Latin equivalent of Judge Judy, a colorful character in improbably tasteful makeup named Doctora Polo, who even sings her own rather catchy intro jingle to a show called Caso Cerrado in a voice reminiscent of a tranny after a three-day crack binge.
DWTS is a Latino show, make no mistake about it, or part of one. It’s ballroom dancing, after all, which is Latino-esque in style: swaying hips, twirling arms, glittering costumes, feathers-feathers-feathers, and the swooning performativity of romance. What makes it more Anglo is the scathing remarks from the judges and the brutal elimination process, which lacks warmth and compassion, corazon, and therefore it can never be truly Latino.